


Queen of Lonely Hearts

by raven_maiden



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Big Dick Draco, Co-workers, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry needs a drink, Humor, Jealousy, Office Sex, Pining, Possessive Draco Malfoy, Semi-Public Sex, Slap Slap Kiss, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28055634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_maiden/pseuds/raven_maiden
Summary: “You’re an arrogant prick."“I know.”“You harass me constantly.”“I prefer ‘tease.’”“You have no right to touch me.”“Probably not.”Hermione seized what was left of her self-control and ripped free, stumbling backward. “What is this.”Malfoy simply tilted his head. “What do you think?”**Hermione Granger has a brilliant idea for the office Christmas Party this year. Her coworker, Draco Malfoy, begs to disagree.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 100
Kudos: 1442
Collections: D/Hr Advent 2020





	Queen of Lonely Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> I'm thrilled and grateful to be part of DHr Advent this year. Thank you to all who nominated me, and to all who have supported my writing over the last year, in ways big and small. A huge thanks to Musyc for organizing, and for being the incredible gift to the fandom that she is. 
> 
> Love to my duck [Lovesbitca8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesbitca8/), and my wife [weestarmeggie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weestarmeggie/) for helping me bounce ideas for this fic, but it is unbeta'd. All errors and eyebrow-raising choices are my own. Love to my cell-mate abrilas_art for the [gorgeous artwork](https://www.instagram.com/p/CJLDzFAgbqv/) \- please follow her on Insta and give her all the love. ❤️
> 
> Queen of Lonely Hearts is available for listening on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/episode/56iAEMBRbbYCtaUKb6O0JG?si=44LTSn3hTdeS8qD1Xwi8Pg/) and [YouTube!](https://youtu.be/WzomqKkhgc0/) Big thanks to the lovely ladies of ETL Echo Audiobooks for recording. 🥰

  


~*~

_Twenty-three days til Christmas_

“You can’t be serious.” 

Of all the things Hermione Granger enjoyed the least on Monday afternoons, Draco Malfoy’s migraine-inducing drawl topped the list. 

Tapping her quill against the inkpot far more times than necessary, she continued writing. 

She enjoyed precisely six seconds of peace and quiet. 

“How is this going to work, exactly?” 

“That’s for me to worry about, and for you to keep your overlong nose out of.” 

The responding chuckle set her teeth on edge. 

She twisted around to scowl at him. “Don’t you have anything better to do other than harass me? Work, perhaps?” 

He laughed, his eyes crinkled, his head tossed back. Genuinely _mirthful_. 

“I fail to see what’s so funny.” 

“You, accusing _me_ of putting my nose in other people’s business.” He made a show of wiping his eyes.

Hermione took a deep breath through her nostrils. “Listen, Malfoy. No one asked you to eavesdrop on my conversation with Vance this morning—” 

“There are these things called Silencing Charms. You should try them sometime.”

“—or rifle through my desk when I was in the loo—” 

“You pulled a dozen personnel files in an hour. What did you expect?” 

“And although you clearly have no respect for my privacy, I’d appreciate if you at least had the decency to pretend you didn’t snoop into my work on a _Ministry-approved activity_ and make preemptive judgments—” 

“Ministry-approved matchmaking? Really, Granger?” 

Hermione went very still. Malfoy’s smirk grew. 

“Personally, I think I have a right to keep tabs on this little project of yours,” he said. “Seeing as how it involves me.” 

Her quill almost snapped in her grip. “You would make this all about you, you insufferable git!”

“If I’m expected to suffer through a work function with a witch _Hermione Granger_ sets me up with, then yeah, in fact, I would.” 

Hermione’s eye twitched. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Let’s see.” He tapped his chin. “First, you organize this stupid ‘Secret Santa’ exchange. Second, you send out a questionnaire more invasive than a Probity Probe up the arse—” 

“That’s a _gross_ exaggeration—” 

Malfoy plucked the questionnaire off his desk and began to read. “‘Can you describe your professional aspirations in the next five years?’ ‘Do you like children?’ ‘What are some hobbies you enjoy outside of work? For example, knitting, Quidditch, gardening, etc.’” 

“That’s for the Secret Santa exchange,” she said tightly. “Some of us like to know a bit about the person we’re buying for. Not that _thoughtfulness_ is a word in your vocabulary.” 

“I saw your planner, Granger.” 

She felt the blood drain from her face. 

_Singles,_ she’d written in one column. In the other, _Partnered._

_Shit._

“You’re setting people up at this stupid Ugly Christmas Jumper party. The one you just pitched to our boss as a ‘Muggleborn-friendly tradition.” 

There was a silence while Hermione briefly considered Obliviating him. 

“Admit it.” Malfoy leaned forward in a swift motion, and the back of her chair smacked against her desk. 

Her relationship with Malfoy was an endless cycle of volleys, pitches, and swings. They were evenly matched, for the most part— she could count the times either of them had delivered a death blow on one hand. 

This was one of them. 

“Fine.” Hermione wet her lips, and his gaze followed the movement. “The matching process isn’t random. Happy?” 

There was a tense pause. Then Malfoy retreated, reclining in his seat. 

“A bit, yeah.” He tossed her a lazy smirk. 

Hermione stared daggers into his eye sockets. “Not that it’s any of your business, Malfoy, but I resent the term ‘matchmaking.’ I may be _considering_ romantic potential as one of many potential factors for single employees, but the primary goal is to foster intradepartmental relationships and facilitate developmental opportunities—” 

“Keep telling yourself that, Granger.” 

She clenched her jaw as her blood boiled. “Here I am, trying to do a _good thing_ this Christmas while you make it out to be some—some kind of lonely hearts club!”

“‘Lonely hearts club?’” Malfoy chuckled, his eyes glinting. “Is that what they’re calling the singles column in Witch Weekly these days?” 

Hermione’s quill did snap this time. She chucked the broken pieces at his head. “ _Bugger_ _off_.” 

Huffing a stray curl from her face, she swiveled back to her desk. 

“Not a chance in hell, Granger.”

He began whistling. 

~*~

_Twenty-two days til Christmas_

It had started out innocently enough. Hermione Granger was bored, overqualified, and biding her time in a mind-numbing job until she could apply for the one she actually wanted.

When she’d first looked into working at the International Magical Office of Law four years ago, they’d told her she needed five years of Ministry experience. She’d settled on a position in the Investigation Department to pass the time, excited to help track down high-profile criminals while working closely with Harry and Ron. 

The first year had somewhat aligned with her expectations. But everything had gone to pot in her second year when the DIMC and DMLE began squabbling about jurisdictions, and a flurry of her coworkers were reassigned. Her third year had begun terribly— her broken engagement with Ron was closely followed by a notice that Draco Malfoy was joining the department, and would be dumped in her already-cramped office. By the year’s end, the two of them were the only remaining full-time employees, and had barely managed not to kill each other. 

As her fourth year stretched to a close, Hermione’s day-to-day tasks now involved a mountain of paperwork — mostly cleaning up the sloppy reporting done by Magical Patrol, or Hit Wizards. 

But that was all about to change. 

Hermione opened the door to their shared office at precisely 7:55, and found Malfoy where he always was in the mornings: reviewing memos with a thinly-veiled look of disgust. 

“If you tell anyone, I’ll see to it that they never find your body,” she said cheerfully, by way of greeting. 

Malfoy didn’t bother to look up as she banged the door closed. “I suppose you’re planning to hide it in that bushy mane of yours?” 

Hermione plopped down in her chair, unwinding her scarf. “I’ve been thinking, Malfoy. And since you’re so interested in my little Christmas project, it occurred to me that you must want to help.” 

“Clearly.” 

“Mmm.” She pulled out files and began organizing her notes. “Which is very sweet of you. However, I have to express my concern that your end-of-year reports are going so slowly that you’re on track to spend every day between now and New Year’s in the office. So I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.”

There was a muttered insult, followed by the hiss of a Muffliato. 

Hermione smiled and took a long sip of her coffee. 

She had a productive morning, as Malfoy didn’t lift the Muffliato charm until lunch hour was almost over. She’d almost blissfully forgotten about his existence until a low groan startled her from her notes. 

Hermione glanced at him over her Muggle takeout, watching him crack his neck. “Break your back doing actual work, Malfoy?” 

“That’s rich, coming from the Queen of Lonely Hearts.” 

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll have you know that only”—she skimmed her ledger— “25% of the pairs I’ve matched today have romantic potential. The rest are purely professional.” 

When she turned around, she found Malfoy staring at her with the same expression he reserved for overlong memos. 

“You’re actually doing this,” he said. “This is actually happening.” 

“I am.” She tossed what was left of her takeout in the rubbish bin and gave him an insincere smile. “Sorry I couldn’t take you on as my assistant.” 

He sneered at her. “Granger, I’m not sure when you knocked that overlarge head of yours—” 

“And decided to help everyone get what they want for Christmas while also improving the collective mood of the DMLE?” Hermione batted her lashes with a pout. “I don’t know either, but you can thank me later.” 

“You’re mad,” said Malfoy, as she picked up the blank questionnaire on his desk and shoved it into his chest. 

“Fill that out.” She sat down again. “I have to find some excuse to meet with everyone who hasn’t completed it, and I refuse to carve out thirty minutes of my lunch schedule for you.” 

“Let me get this straight.” Malfoy floated the survey to the rubbish bin, incinerating it with a flick of his wand. “You think it’s a clever idea to nose into personnel records and interfere in people’s personal lives—”

“It’s two hours, Malfoy. You’re acting like it’s a bloody marriage contract—” 

“—and promote dating, fucking, whatever, in explicit violation of Ministry policy?”

Hermione fixed him with her frostiest stare. “Ignoring the fact that _not all matches are romantic,_ I’m safeguarding against rule-breaking should any couple hit it off.” 

Malfoy’s brow furrowed. “You’re making sure the matches are across offices, not within. And no direct power.” 

“Exactly.” She appraised him for a moment. “I’m surprised you know the rules.”

He stretched his legs out with a shrug. “Still. Why should any DMLE employee, myself included, prefer your matchmaking to death by a stampede of mountain trolls?” 

“Ha, ha. I’ll give you three reasons: Dean and Sally, Neville and Susan, and Ron and Luna.” Her eyes drifted to the wall. “Four, actually. I deserve a good bit of credit for George Weasley and Lee Jordan.” 

Malfoy’s laughter made her jump. Hermione scowled at him. 

“That’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard, Granger.” He shook his head, his grin fading into a smirk. “Your problem isn’t that you’re bored, it’s that you’re single. You could stand to go on a date or two and brush the cobwebs off your knickers—” 

“I have zero interest in a romantic relationship at the moment, which is why I don’t date.” Hermione crossed her arms, drumming her fingers. “And I’m more than satisfied with my sex life, which I’m sure is more than any of your partners can say.” 

Malfoy’s jaw went slack with horror. Hermione tossed him a sweet smile and spun back to her desk. 

“I have a thought for your Secret Santa,” she said primly. “It’s called a Muggle vibrator, and I’ve found it vastly superior to anything most men have to offer. Perhaps you can gift it to whatever poor girl you’re shagging this Christmas.” 

There was a long silence, and then a sharp inhale. 

“Too much information, Granger.” 

“Good. Then do us both a favor and _bugger off_.” 

He did. 

Some time later, Hermione was reviewing her tentative matches— 10 pairs in total— when a flurry of movement interrupted her. She looked over to see Malfoy quickly packing up his things.

“Malfoy.” 

He ignored her, shrugging on his coat. 

“ _Malfoy_.” 

His legs strode quickly to the door, but Hermione snatched her wand and locked it in the nick of time. 

He turned to her slowly, as if facing a firing squad. 

“I need to know your professional aspirations.” 

“‘My professional aspirations,’” he repeated. 

“Yes. I need to know who might be a good professional contact to match you with.” Hermione sighed at his icy expression. “Forget about the Ugly Christmas Jumper Party for a moment. You really should be thinking about this anyway. We have another year or two at best before this department is swallowed by Magical Patrol—” 

“I applied for a researcher position in the Department for Dark Objects and Artifacts. My interview is in two weeks.” Malfoy rested a shoulder against the doorframe, watching her gape at him. “So you’ll just have to set me up with one of the birds on your bloody list.”

“Er— right.” Hermione blinked, trying to process. “But I don’t know who you might—” 

“Do I look like I give a damn?” 

Malfoy brandished his wand and wrenched the door open, leaving Hermione with knots in her stomach and no idea why. 

~*~

_Fourteen days to Christmas_

“Neuman’s file is shit.” 

“Mmm,” said Hermoine. Ron had written that report, and she wasn’t about to indulge Malfoy’s tendency to review his work with an exacting viciousness. 

“I’m serious.” There was a rustle of parchment behind her. “Half of it is illegible.”

“His office is in the Aurors’ wing. Please accept my deepest condolences that you’ll have to exert yourself walking over there.” Hermione dipped her quill in her inkpot and continued writing.

“That’s not very _collegial_ of you, Granger.” Malfoy’s chair squeaked behind her. “You’re the only person in the department who can understand your ex’s chicken scratch.”

Hermione glared down at the mistake she’d just made. 

Malfoy’s chair squeaked again. And again. “I guess I’ll have to explain to Vance that the Weasel’s latest outburst all could have been avoided if only you weren’t too busy playing Cupid to help your coworker—” 

“ _F_ _ine_.” Hermione spelled away her latest error with an angry flick of her wand. “Tomorrow morning, alright?”

“What about lunch?” The squeaking paused. “I can send an intern to Gigs for takeaway.” 

Frowning, Hermione set her quill down. “Can’t, sorry.” She rubbed her stiff neck and turned to look at him. “I have plans with Kevin Entwhistle.” 

Malfoy stared at her for a moment before shrugging and turning back to his desk. 

Hermione had almost made up her mind on matching Fay Dunbar with Justin Finch-Fletchley when he spoke again. 

“You’ve been out to lunch with a different bloke every day this week.” 

“Yeah, well. Almost all the women in the DMLE completed the survey, so I haven’t had to track them down.” She rolled her shoulders. 

“You’re an idiot.” 

Hermione froze mid-stretch. “Excuse me?” 

“I said, you’re daft.” 

She whipped around to see him snapping his binder closed and pushing back his seat. 

“Don’t come complaining to me when they get the wrong impression.” 

Hermione gaped at him as he stood, grabbed his coat, and crossed the room in two strides. 

She stared at the closed door until Kevin Entwhistle knocked on it five minutes later. 

~*~

_Twelve days til Christmas_

Malfoy had been right. 

She could practically feel him gloating at her back as she cracked open the door and found herself staring into Kevin Entwhistle’s earnest face. 

“Hey, Hermione.” He grinned at her, running a hand through his hair. “Er— I know you said you were busy, but I was wondering if you got my present?” 

Hermione blinked at him, then held the door open wide. “Oh.” She glanced at the quill on her desk — the one she’d just opened that morning. 

It was a self-inking quill with automatic erasing and pain relief properties, and had blown the Secret Santa budget by at least fifteen Galleons. It also was three days early. 

She turned back to see Kevin shrug. 

“I know we’re supposed to wait until the Hideous Jumper Party, but you mentioned your hand cramping the other day, and this one is really good. I was just up to see Robards, so I thought I’d pop in and see what you thought.” 

Malfoy coughed behind her. 

“I can return it if you don’t like it,” said Kevin anxiously. 

“No! No.” Hermione shook her head. “I love it. Sorry, I’m just—” She smiled weakly. “I was caught off guard. Thank you, Kevin. That was really kind of you.”

“No problem.” He shifted on his feet, clearly waiting for her to say more. 

Hermione swallowed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come to lunch today. I’ve been slammed—” 

A snort at her back. 

Kevin’s gaze slid over her shoulder, his brows drawing together. 

“You know what?” said Hermione brightly. “A break sounds lovely. Let’s go.” 

She grabbed her coat and yanked him out the door before he could make out whatever insult Malfoy was muttering under his breath. 

Kevin was attractive, Hermione supposed. She knew Katie Bell had fancied him once, and if the women eyeing him in the café were anything to go by, she should probably consider herself lucky. 

He was about as tall as Malfoy, and his brown hair and brown eyes were— fine, she reasoned. Attractive.

His cheeks dimpled when he laughed, and he seemed clever enough— witty, even, when he wasn’t nervous. He had a decent job in Wizengamot Administration Services, with an eye on the Wizengamot one day, and when she caught him staring, Hermione tried to feel flattered. 

Only she was completely unmoved. It was like talking to Neville, or Harry. Or Ron. 

Kevin held the lift doors for her when they returned from lunch, and just when Hermione resolved to be an adult and lie about having a boyfriend, Malfoy slipped inside with Mandy Brocklehurst. 

She and Kevin stood in awkward silence at one end of the lift while Mandy giggled with Malfoy at the other. Hermione tried not to gag when she heard a whisper that sounded suspiciously like “naughty or nice.”

The lift doors dinged open, and Kevin offered her a wry smile before following her out. He asked her if she’d like to go out for lunch on Monday, and when Hermione heard Malfoy’s low drawl echoing off the walls, followed by a peal of Mandy’s laughter, she smiled sweetly and accepted. 

She leveled a glare at Malfoy when he finally returned ten minutes later. “Parvati Patil is your Secret Santa. Mandy must have switched with her.” 

“Fascinating.” He sat down, turning his back to her. 

Hermione’s nostrils flared. “I see. Well, I’ll send her a recommendation for a good vibrator, then.”

“I’ll be sure to mention it when I see her Monday.” 

Clenching her jaw, Hermione wrote a memo asking Kevin to swing by her office at a quarter to noon on Monday so she could escape the office first. 

~*~

_Nine days til Christmas_

Hermione was in a terrible mood. She wasn’t sure if it was the fact that the Muggle clothing company selling the jumpers was running two days late, the fact that there were still about a dozen DMLE employees she hadn’t been able to match yet, or the fact that Malfoy had left their office fifteen minutes ago for his interview without a backward glance. 

Her brooding was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. 

She opened the door to find Parvati Patil with a glint in her eyes that had never meant anything good when they were back at school. 

“Hey,” said Parvati, peeking into the office. “Have a minute?” 

“Er— yeah. Sure.” 

She stepped aside, and Parvati slipped in the room with a glance over her shoulder. 

“I’ll get right to the point,” she said, casting a quick Muffling Charm. “I’m here because of Mandy Brocklehurst.” 

Hermione felt a muscle twitch in her cheek. “Sorry?” 

“I know it might be asking for a lot, and I’m certainly not accusing you of doing anything untoward, but if you just _happen”_ —Parvati winked—“to match Malfoy and Mandy for this Heinous Jumper business”—Parvati winked again—“I know she’d be enormously grateful. I suspect Malfoy would be, too.”

Hermione’s neck felt warm and itchy. She cleared her throat. “Parvati, I hate to tell you this, but it’s ra—” 

“ _Random_ , I know. Of course.” Parvati winked a third time, and Hermione faintly wondered if she’d been hit with a Twitching Hex. 

“Look. Mandy has been mooning after Malfoy for ages, and as her friend and coworker, I’m the one who has to hear about it. Apparently the two of them have been hitting it off lately, so consider having a bit of Christmas spirit and letting your hand _slip_ to pair them up on Friday.” 

With a final wink, Parvati swept from the room, leaving Hermione in stunned silence. 

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there until she finally sat down again. Her fingers shook as she cracked open her binder, flipping to the page with the names she hadn’t yet been able to place. 

_D. Malfoy_ , she’d written, at the bottom. She peered down at his name, and the name she’d written just above it— _H. Granger—_ studying the white space she’d left between their names and the others on accident. 

Or perhaps not-so-accidentally. 

She slammed the planner closed, the truth breaking over her in waves. When her head stopped spinning, she scrambled to her feet and left the room, her heels clicking briskly across the marble floors. 

Hermione found Harry poring over paperwork behind his desk. 

“Hey, Her—”

She slammed the door, disturbing a swarm of floating memos. “I need you to be my date to the office Christmas party.” 

Harry’s quill paused. “Sorry?” 

“The office Christmas party,” she said, more slowly. “I need you to be my date.” 

He blinked, dragging his eyes from the parchment. “The memo you sent said pairs were being ‘randomly assigned.’” 

“Right. Well, the thing is”— Hermione swallowed— “I lied.” 

There was a prolonged silence. 

“Hermione, are you telling me that you’re _setting people up_ at the Ugly Christmas Jumper Party?” 

“Not exactly. I’m just— compatibility matching.” 

Harry’s glasses slid down the bridge of his nose. “‘Compatibility matching.’”

“It’s not purely romantic, Harry. I’m also matching pairs by potential work projects and shared interests. The DMLE is so siloed and routine. I just thought we could all use a bit of a change—” 

He looked at her as if she’d just told him Voldemort had returned. “You do realize that this violates at least a dozen Ministry rules, don’t you?” 

“So I’m told.” A stray memo floated by her ear, and she batted it aside. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you because if it all goes to pot, I might need you to make excuses for me.” 

Harry pushed up his glasses through narrowed eyes. 

She twisted the bracelet on her wrist, feeling her face heat. “I’ve been really stressed lately, and I’m not sure I’ll feel up to staying the whole time. So don’t be upset if I leave, alright?”

Her mind drifted to an image of Malfoy smirking at a faceless brunette, his eyes roving her attire. The girl tossed her silky hair over her shoulder when he dipped to murmur in her ear, smiling up at him through her lashes. 

Hermione blinked at the ceiling. 

“Fine. Listen, Hermione—” 

“I should go.” Her throat felt thick. “Thanks for understanding, Harry. Please keep this between us.” 

A crinkle appeared between Harry’s brows. He opened his mouth.

“Your parchment has an ink blot the size of a Quaffle on it, by the way.” 

Hermione slipped out of the room and clicked the door closed, sealing Harry’s curses behind her. 

When she was back in her office, she pulled out her planner and focused on the faceless girl. With a sharp breath, she turned to her page of final matches and wrote two names in black ink: 

_D. Malfoy & M. Brocklehurst_

She left for the fireplaces at 4:30, before Malfoy returned from his interview. She called her mother, cleaned her flat, and cooked. She managed to make it halfway through her chicken before she started crying. 

~*~

_Six days to Christmas_

“Granger.” 

Hermione sniffed and noisily shuffled her parchment. 

“Hey, Granger.” 

A chair creaked behind her. She glared holes into her ledger and continued working. 

A few moments later, a quill began tapping against an inkpot. Hermione breathed through her nostrils as it tapped faster and faster, determined not to— 

“ _What_.” She jerked around in her seat. 

Her stomach somersaulted the moment they locked eyes.

She’d avoided looking at Malfoy over the last two days. Every time she did, she’d noticed things she had no business noticing. The slight dampness to his hair. The way his navy jumper brought out the blue flecks in his eyes. 

Malfoy's brows lifted, and she wondered with a slow-dawning horror whether she'd been staring. “Something happened with your lonely hearts club, didn’t it.” 

She forced her features in a scowl. “What are you on about, Malfoy?” 

“For two weeks, I’ve heard nothing but how brilliant this idea is.” He crossed his ankle over his knee. “And suddenly you’ve gone silent about it.” 

“That’s because I’ve been busy.” 

“With a report that isn’t due until February?” 

Her mouth was dry. “If you really must know, everything’s all sorted for tomorrow. There’s nothing left to do.” 

Malfoy’s fingers tapped against his armrest, his eyes pinning hers in a way that made her want to squirm. She was just about to turn around again when he spoke. 

“They offered me the job.” 

The butterflies in her stomach turned to lead. 

“Ah.” It felt as if her lungs had punctured. “Fantastic. Well-done.” 

The intensity in his gaze made her feel flayed open. “Don’t you want to know if I took it?” 

“I already know you did.” She managed a quick smile and turned back to her desk. “When do you start?” 

“January 7th.” 

Hermione closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe. “Congratulations, Malfoy. I’m happy for you.” 

The room was still, and for a moment, she thought he might say something. But then he shifted to his desk and went back to work, and she stared at her parchment until her vision stopped blurring. 

~*~

_Five days til Christmas_

Hermione examined her reflection in the mirror, smoothing her curls. She wore a headband of antlers, and her fuzzy, forest green jumper featured a gigantic image of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, complete with a red puff ball for a nose.

Harry had bailed on her. They’d agreed to meet at her flat and Floo to the Ministry together, but she’d received a last minute owl from him telling her something had come up at work, and that he’d have to meet her there. 

Hermione plucked a stray thread from her jumper, trying to shove her irritation aside. To be fair, there was no way Harry could know that she’d fallen in love with Draco Malfoy like the greatest idiot to ever idiot that she was, or that she needed his steadying presence to keep herself from dissolving into a fit of tears over it. 

She grimaced down the last of her eggnog, staring at the clock. Once it hit twenty past, she tossed the Floo powder and stepped in the fireplace, saying a silent prayer that she’d find Harry quickly. 

Vance had opened her personal office Floo just for the night. Hermione frowned down at the pile of empty bottles already left on her desk, and strode off in the direction of the noise. 

They’d enchanted the conference room at the end of the east corridor to be roughly twenty times its normal size. Hermione dodged mistletoe as she entered, glancing around at the enchanted snow and fairy lights. At least fifty people were already gathered, laughing and pointing at each other’s jumpers as they chatted over the Christmas music. 

“Hermione!” 

She nearly bumped into a table of hors d’oeuvres before spinning to find Terry Boot. He was wearing a fluorescent green jumper with a terrifying drawing of Father Christmas on the front. 

“Terry,” she said, returning his tight hug. “Good to see you.” 

“And you. Found your match yet?” 

“Not yet, no.” 

“Well, that’s part of the fun.” His mouth twitched as he took in her jumper. “This idea was brilliant. Everyone’s already saying so.”

Tucking a curl behind her ear, Hermione smiled. 

Terry Boot had just spotted his match when Hermione was interrupted by Angelina Johnson and Hestia Jones, wearing identical sugar plum jumpers. Once they finished showering her in compliments, Hermione was accosted by Robards, who slurred as he asked her for the ten dozenth time when she was going to take his offer to work for him directly. 

Hermione had just excused herself to summon a glass of nearby champagne when she saw it: the candy-cane jumper she’d carefully wrapped yesterday evening, ignoring the dagger in her heart. The one she knew would stretch to tall shoulders, and a shock of pale blond hair. 

But she only saw wiry black.

Hermione squinted, and when her vision cleared, she saw Harry Potter across the room— his face grim as gingerbread men sparkled atop the candy canes. Just next to him was Mandy Brocklehurst, looking equally sour in a matching jumper. 

A prickle shot down her spine, and she jumped to see Malfoy just a few yards away. His gaze was on her, his hands in his pockets— a forest-green jumper stretched across his chest. Hermione’s eyes dropped to study Rudolph, and her mouth fell open. 

Then she did what any respectable adult would do, and bolted. 

She dodged the bobbing platters and chocolate fondue table, ignoring the voices calling to her as blood rushed in her ears. She ditched her champagne glass at the door, and then she was pacing down the corridor and slipping into a dimly-lit conference room just around the corner. 

Malfoy’s footsteps followed shortly afterward, and when they were just outside the conference room, Hermione flung the door open and dragged him inside. 

“Ow! What the—” 

She released him with a shove. “What the hell are you playing at?”

He gave her a look of pure ire as he straightened, smoothing out his jumper. “Nice to see you too, Granger.” 

“Don’t you _dare_.” 

“Don’t I dare what?” 

“Don’t you dare act casual about this—this—” She threw up her hands. “This _prank_. ” The room felt hotter as his eyes narrowed on her. “You went too far, Malfoy. You know how hard I’ve worked on this, yet you still insist on making a mockery of everything I do.” 

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “You’re a bloody moron.” 

“Lovely.” She stared at him in disbelief. Then she let out a scathing laugh. “You know, I’m glad you’re leaving, Malfoy.” 

“Listen, Granger—” 

She stepped into him. “Because I hate you. I really do. I hate your stupid sneer and your stupid creaking chair and the stupid way you crack you knuckles—” 

“That’s enough—”

“I hate the way you never stop talking—” She jabbed her finger into his chest. “And I hate the way you refuse to leave well enough alone, or abide by _basic human decency_ —”

“Shut up,” he said, grabbing her wrist. Hermione tried to yank it back, but then she found herself tugged against his chest. 

“Stop talking.” His breath was harsh, and she tilted her neck back to meet his eyes. 

They were black. 

She froze like a rabbit in the headlights as he held her gaze, his other hand lifting to envelop hers. 

“What are you doing.” Her heart thumped against her ribs. 

“I hear you have a cramped hand.” 

His gray eyes pinned her as he caressed her palm and rolled her wrist, his long fingers massaging hers. 

Desire spiked low in her belly, knocking the air from her lungs.

She opened her mouth to tell him to stop. “You’re an arrogant prick,” came out instead. 

“I know.” 

“You harass me constantly.” 

“I prefer ‘tease.’” 

“You have no right to touch me.” 

“Probably not.” 

Hermione seized what was left of her self-control and ripped free, stumbling backward. “What is this.” 

Malfoy simply tilted his head. “What do you think?” 

Her tongue darted along her parted lips, and the look Malfoy gave her almost made her knees buckle. 

“Tell me why I’ve applied to a dozen jobs in the last six months.” She blinked at him, jerking her head. “Tell me why I spent an hour getting drilled by Potter this morning, and why I’m wearing this stupid reindeer on my chest.”

“I—” Her mind spun, her tongue useless in her mouth. 

He closed the distance between them, and a sigh escaped her as his hands threaded through her hair. 

“Because you and I are perfect for each other.” 

Her fingers curled in his jumper, and her eyelids fluttered as he captured her lips. 

She moaned as he set fire to her skin, her fingers roving his body, desperate to memorize the feel of him. Her head was dizzy with it as his hand slid up her bare back, his tongue tangling with hers. 

Malfoy guided her to the conference table in three strides, untwisting her bra as her fingers scrabbled at his belt. She tore open the buttons to his trousers, and then she was helping him rip off her jumper before she could reason with herself otherwise. 

He sat her on the table, staring at her breasts until a flush broke across her skin. She squirmed when he began rolling her nipples, biting back her moans, and when she couldn't bear it any longer, she pushed him back to tug down his trousers. He inhaled sharply when she reached inside his boxers, yanking off his jumper. 

Hermione had barely a moment to appreciate his bare chest when her eyes widened. She looked down. 

He was— large. Intimidatingly so. 

His eyes were dark as he slotted himself between her hips, and she bit her lip as she glanced down, watching her hand around him. He pumped slowly into her fist, and when her grip tightened, he hissed into her neck. 

“Malfoy—” Her throat clicked. “I’m not sure I can—” 

“You can.” The need in his voice sent shivers across her skin. She tried to focus on it, pushing aside her nerves. 

His head lifted to search her face. “What about all the fantastic sex you’ve been having.” 

It took a lifetime for her to swallow. “I lied.” 

Her heartbeat ticked in the silence. 

“How long.” 

She blinked, dazed by his bottomless pupils. 

“ _H_ _ow long,_ Granger.” 

Her eyes screwed shut as she scrambled through the months. “Two— two and a half years—” 

He kneeled, and before she could come to her senses, he was tearing off her shoes and jeans, and his tongue was on her core. 

She cried out, falling flat against the table as he held her open and licked her like a man starved. Her mind shuddered, trying to remember the last time Ron had done this, but then Malfoy’s lips found her clit and all other thoughts burned away. 

Her hips thrashed, her back arching into the pleasure as he sucked at her. His tongue flicked and circled until she was moaning nonsense, and when he pushed a finger inside her, she slapped both hands over her mouth. 

Words floated across her skin, low and raw, but she could only process the sensation of a second finger slipping inside her. Her muscles pulled tight, and she keened as white light burst behind her eyelids, spiraling out of her body until she was begging him to stop. 

Then she was tugged upright, and Malfoy was kissing her everywhere, sparking life into her veins as he wrapped her leg around his hips. She slung her arms around his neck and opened her mouth for him, drunk on the taste of herself as he hitched her thigh up. 

“Beautiful.” Her fingers scrabbled at his shoulders as he pushed forward, stretching her open. “So fucking tight—” 

“Draco—” 

His jaw dropped when she said his name. His hips jerked forward, and her neck fell back as he pushed deeper inside.

He pressed kisses down her throat as he bottomed out, and then there was nothing, nothing beyond the feel of him. Or the way he looked at her, like she’d just given him the world. 

They began moving together, the room silent except for their pants and the slap of skin against skin. Draco's forehead dropped to hers when she began whimpering, each pump of his cock adding to the inferno inside her. 

His breath grew ragged, his eyes flicking between her face and the place their bodies joined. He cursed when she cupped her breasts. Hermione whined as his hips slowed to a maddening pace, but then his thumb found her clit and her mouth fell open in a strangled gasp. 

“I want you to come.” 

He slammed in hard, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head. 

“You were meant for this." His fingers stroked harder as his hips pumped faster. "Meant for my cock. Isn't that right?" 

“Oh, god— ” 

“That's it. Want you to come on it—”

Her nipples tightened, and she wailed as her orgasm tore through her, half-senseless from the pleasure as Draco drew it out, and out, and out. He finally collapsed just as she returned to her body, groaning a delicious sound into her ear as he emptied inside her. 

Her heart fluttered against his as he slowly lifted his head. Their eyes met, and he released her hair to skate his thumb across her cheekbone. 

The moment was interrupted by a loud sound down the corridor— applause.

Draco's eyes widened. Hermione's heart stopped. 

“The year-end speech,” she rasped. 

He remained frozen inside her for a split second before they sprang into action. 

They scrambled about the room, cursing and tugging on their clothes. Hermione gave up the fruitless search for her antlers when Draco hissed at her, and her fingers ran desperately through her tangled curls as they sprinted down the corridor. 

They halted at the door. With a final nod from Draco, Hermione cracked it open and slipped inside. 

“— well done, Finnigan,” Vance was saying. 

Hermione’s face felt impossibly hot as she slinked into the crowd, joining the applause. She saw Finnigan salute the audience before stumbling down the stairs, his cider sloshing in his hand. 

“And now, Draco Malfoy. I’m pleased to announce Draco has accepted a position in the—” 

There was a ringing in her ears as Hermione glanced over her shoulder, just in time to watch Draco stop cold. Vance gestured him on stage, and he seemed to return to his senses, quickly cutting through the audience. His cheeks were pink as he ascended the stairs, and when he reached to shake Vance’s hand, Hermione's eyes popped.

At least six inches of his abdomen flashed across the room.

His jumper was too tight. He could barely lift his arm when he turned to accept Robards’ handshake, the material straining across chest. 

Hermione looked down, and found herself swimming in a baggy jumper— a patch of threads where Rudolph’s face should be, as the fabric was turned inside out. 

When she looked up, she found Harry gaping at her in horror, his eyes swiveling between her and Draco. 

“You owe me,” he mouthed. 

She watched him polish off his drink and shake his head with a shudder, as if trying to burn the image from his mind. 

Hermione quickly pressed her mouth into her palm, suppressing her laughter with the sleeve of Draco’s overlong jumper. 

~*~

_Christmas_

“You do realize how ridiculous you look.”

“Better than freezing my bollocks off thanks to your frigid feet.”

“They’re not _that_ cold—” 

“Let’s put it this way. I’ve never cuddled with an icicle, Granger, but I imagine it feels like touching your feet.” 

Hermione snorted. 

Draco strode to her full-length mirror, admiring himself with the confidence that only a man who’d just been fucked twice could. 

She propped her head up. His bare arse looked spectacular from this view— not that she was about to tell him that. 

“I rather like this jumper.” He turned, gesturing at the garish reindeer on his front. “Rodarch brought us together, Granger. You should show some respect.”

She burst into a fit of giggles as Draco dove back under the covers and attacked her again. 

“Rudolph”—she gasped through the onslaught, as he kissed down her neck, and breasts. “It’s Rudolph—”

He grazed her nipple. “Say another name besides mine and there _will_ be consequences.” 

His tongue stroked hers as his fingers found her clit, and she shuddered, moaning. 

“Oh god, Draco— I can’t—” 

“Really?” He froze, pulling his hand from between her legs and staring down at her. “You can’t?” 

“Erm— maybe. I’m not sure.” She considered him for a moment before reaching up to brush the hair from his eyes. “I suppose we should find out.” 

A wicked grin crossed Draco’s face, and she laughed as she tugged him down by his Rudolph jumper, kissing it off his lips. 

~*~

Please enjoy this incredible manip made by the one and only Wonky. 😂💕

  
[ ](https://imgur.com/IDjGvN9)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are love and encouragement. ❤️


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